


Catechism

by eff_reality



Category: Lord of the Rings RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Religious, Catholic, Catholic Guilt, Confessional, M/M, Roman Catholicism, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-06-29
Packaged: 2017-12-16 14:21:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 8
Words: 4,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/863000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eff_reality/pseuds/eff_reality
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU, work in progress. Probably never to be finished.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Confession I

**Confession I.**

_Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my—_

_Steady on. There's no need for that, Dominic. Only in the screened confession. And even then, not all the time._

_Oh. ...How do you know my name?_

_I know everyone who comes to my church. And your mum told me I should expect you today. Have a seat. ...Now. Is there anything you'd like to confess?_

_Um, yeah. I fight with my brother a lot._

_Matthew? Yes, I know him, too. Go on._

_We call each other names and hit each other. Well, he mostly hits me. But I yell at him a lot. And I talk back to my mum sometimes._

_Alright. ...That all?_

_...I wished my father was dead last week._

_..._

_I didn't mean it. I just said it. When I was alone in my room._

_But you love him very much._

_Yeah._

_Well Dominic, you're an excellent Catholic for a boy your age._

_Thank you._

_Before you leave, I want you to go to the altar, and I want you to say two Hail Marys and one Our Father._

_Okay._

_God, the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins. Through the ministry of the Church, may God give Dominic pardon and peace, and I absolve him from his sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit._

_Thank you._


	2. First Holy Communion

**First Holy Communion.**

On Saturday, Father Boyd's eyes are repeatedly drawn to that startlingly blonde mop. The Monaghan boy glows with pride above his little gray suit, turning to lock eyes with his mother—Maureen, good woman—from wherever the procession leads him. His hands are pressed palm to palm under his chin in a mimicry of prayer, like all the other children's, but there's something just a bit more sure in Monaghan's fingers. There's conviction, perhaps even an actual desire to pray to their Lord. It gives Boyd a strange pride for having absolved him.

He feels fortunate to be a part of this. The youngest member of St. Catherine's clergy, he certainly didn't expect to ordain over the ceremony; frankly, he didn't expect to even be wanted here at all. To have been chosen by Monsignor Brady to assist in the Eucharist is nothing short of, well, a miracle. He supposes all his missionary work abroad is to blame for him being singled out; it makes him something of a novelty here, in such a traditional parish. Though only twenty-four, Boyd is worldly in ways that the other priests have never been and probably never will be, the stubborn sods.

Father Boyd sends a brief smile up to the stained glass ceiling, where the afternoon sun filters through, creating rainbow impressions along the now-empty wooden pews up front. The children look mostly nervous, turning back and peeking over each other's shoulders in line to make sure they've got their hands right to accept communion: left over right. Not that Billy would ever penalize a child for getting it wrong, or an adult, for that matter.

When Monaghan steps into that coveted circle of space before Father Boyd, it's with both hands at his sides. He drops his jaw, accepting the wafer directly from the priest's fingers to his tongue, his lips closing around the treasure. He flushes as he crosses himself, his cheekbones two little red apples.

Billy takes a deep breath before he addresses the next child. "The body of Christ."


	3. Confession II

**Confession II.**

_Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been about a month since my last confession._

_What would you like to confess, my child?_

_Um._

_...It's alright. Take your time._

_I'm not nervous or anything, Father. I just... don't know how to say it._

_Well, give it your best try, and we'll work through it. You can say anything to me. You're protected here._

_I don't know if I am._

_What do you mean?_

_I have... I've been having thoughts. I'm afraid I'm different._

_...How so?_

_The way I think. The way I see the world, and people._

_Have you had bad thoughts about someone? I mean, do you think about... hurting them?_

_No! No. Nothing like that. It's hard to explain. There are things about me, about how I feel and how I see people... they don't feel right. I mean, I don't think they're right._

_What makes you think they're not right?_

_They don't seem normal. They're not proper. I just... feel so embarrassed and wrong._

_...Does this have to do with sex?_

_...I don't know._

_What does it have—_

_Yes._

_...Yes?_

_...Sex._

_Oh. Right. Well, it's perfectly normal for a boy your age, I assure you._

_No._

_...No?_

_Not the way I think of it. Not what I think about._

_...And it doesn't involve hurting someone._

_No._

_...Dominic. Understand that I want to help you, but you're going to have to be more specific in order for that to happen. Yeah? ...Dominic? ...I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—shite.  
_


	4. Conversation

**Conversation.**

Father Boyd knows his instincts were right when Maureen Monaghan comes by on Monday morning. Even the dim, forgiving lighting of the church can't hide the red heaviness around her eyes or the fact that her hair isn't quite as tidy as it usually is. His smile is sympathetic. "Maureen."

She struggles with a smile of her own. "Hello, Father Boyd."

It was meant to be anonymous, but he had no doubts about who was behind the screen on Saturday. Billy can still hear the sound of Dominic's feet running down the aisle and out the back door through the walls of the confessional booth. "Did you want to do a confession?"

"No, no, I—." Her right hand flutters at her neck, then falls to her side. "Do you have a moment? Can we talk?"

"Yes. Of course." Father Boyd leads her out into the sunshine, a rarity in these months. Perhaps the myriad of flowers lining the stone path will mollify the situation at hand.

Maureen squints, searching the grounds for words. She clutches at the underside of her purse. From her smart lavendar skirt suit and her austere jewelry, Boyd can see she's put a great deal of thought into this encounter, and he suddenly feels awful. Just as he's about to put a kind hand to her shoulder and assure her that she needn't tell him anything she doesn't want to, she opens her mouth. "It's my son. Dominic."

He raises his eyebrows, feigning ignorance, just as he'd promised himself he would. He watches her speak but doesn't listen; he doesn't need to. It's his first time being on the receiving end of such a confession as a full priest, but the story is always nearly the same, with minor alterations. In Maureen's version, there is a particular incident, and his ears perk up at the mention of it. Billy can still see his own mother in a robe with no makeup, pulling Joe Kinsley through the hallway by his hair and out the door. Not a minute later, she'd had Billy on his knees at the foot of his bed with his head down and his palms together. _Pray for forgiveness, and I won't tell your da' about this._

Maureen stops at the cast iron gate, laying a cool hand on his forearm. "I. I know Dominic's unique, I've always known that."

Father Boyd's mouth draws up in a grimace that almost passes for a grin.

Her fingers tighten and her eyes go slitted and intense, a harbinger of what Dominic's will look like as he grows older. "What if this doesn't stop? Will that make him a bad Catholic? Will he go to hell?" 

Billy feels as if the blue above him is about to reach down and swallow him up. He hesitates, keeping his eyes distant and his voice low. "It's not as black-and-white as all that. It's common for children to go through phases like this, sometimes even younger than Dominic." It's true enough, but Billy can feel himself speaking in cliches, and his vestments are beginning to itch terribly. "If it's not a phase—which is not uncommon either, Maureen, please understand that—then there are support groups to help the parents cope, and—"

"What about for the child?" She drops her voice. "For Dom. Aren't there places...?"

Father Boyd shakes his head vigorously.

"What about a boarding school? Austin's been considering that, for Dom's secondary."

Boyd's voice goes suddenly firm. "I wouldn't recommend either of those options. They've often been proven to do more damage than good."

" _Oh._ " Maureen sounds surprised. She turns from him, tilting her face up to the unusually bright sky.

He finally rests that gentle hand on her shoulder, his tone softening around the edges. "Dominic is a wonderful person. So far. That's all that matters in my book." Maureen turns to him a bit, smiling, grateful. "He'll find his way."


	5. Confirmation

**Confirmation.**

The day after is predictably slow, and Father Boyd finds himself yawning as he emerges from the unusually empty confessional room, his not-so-pious reflection in stained glass shocking him into better posture. The echo of a raspy mumble carries down the center aisle to the far back of the church where he stands, and he is shocked again, raising his eyes to the tiny figure at the altar praying fiercely. Sunlight spills in from the ceiling windows, lighting up a familiar mess of blonde, and Billy smiles knowingly.

He takes his time pacing past the rows of pews, keeping his eyes respectfully in the vicinity of his feet. He notices a few programs still littered amongst the kneelers, a couple with brown shoe prints stamped across them. If Dominic hears him, he doesn't make it known, his whisper plowing through what Billy quickly recognizes as the Act of Contrition. In the time it takes for Billy to be standing just a few feet shy of the boy's heels, Dominic recites the prayer two and a half times. "Steady on," Billy finally interrupts. "If you don't take a breath every once in a while, you'll pass out. I learned that the hard way."

Dominic turns with a start, the shift of his knees on marble surprisingly loud, and gives his trademark sweet smile. Typically his eyes will follow suit, turning up in an almost cartoonish mimicry of his mouth, but not now. 

"Did your mum make you come here?"

The boy finally lowers his hands. "No."

Billy knows he's not lying. Dominic doesn't lie. "You made Confirmation yesterday. You deserve a break from this place, yeah?"

Dominic's smile finally reaches his eyes, but only just so. "Didn't pray enough yesterday. Didn't pray at all, actually." He awkwardly rises to his feet, hesitant. "Am I supposed to feel like a man now?"

At this, Father Boyd chuffs out a nervous little laugh. It doesn't surprise him that Dominic is so quick to let his guard down with him; there's been a marked change in the way they interact with one another since Dominic's big almost-confession nearly a year and a half before. There is an ease between them, the kind Billy thinks should exist between a priest and all the members of his parish but rarely does. What does surprise him now is something simpler: Dominic's voice, which started dropping back in February and now has a rough but somehow soothing, sure cadence that doesn't yet match the body that contains it—or the mind that feeds it. Billy almost expected the shy boy of seven that he first met under this very ceiling to show up to make his sacrament yesterday; to be so starkly reminded that Dominic cannot and will not be suspended in time is still startling and perhaps a bit sad to him.

"I don't feel like one yet." Dominic hides his hands in the sleeves of his windbreaker and turns his eyes to the crucifix above. "My dad's been trying to teach me about it. What it's supposed to feel like. What _I'm_ supposed to be like. I still don't really understand it." He turns back to Father Boyd with a synthetic swish. "If knowing who you are and having the courage to be honest about it doesn't make you a man, then what does?"

Billy waits for more words from Dominic, and when they don't come, he blesses him with a sweet smile of his own. "That's very well said, lad." He doesn't know if the way the mid-morning light catches Dominic's bangs genuinely reminds him of Joe Kinsley or if he's just projecting from the situation at hand. It doesn't matter; his heart still lurches painfully.

It's at this moment that Dominic moves forward without warning, emerging like a ghost from the recesses of Billy's brain, and Billy nearly jumps back, unprepared for even the thought of an advance—and even less prepared for the acute betrayal he sees in those unnerving young eyes. Another shock to Father Boyd's brain, which now moves a mile a minute. 

He doesn't feel anything remotely resembling lust for Dominic, _not yet_ (a thought at which he physically cringes), but he can't deny that he's _stirred_ by him. He's always cared for his well-being too much, for reasons that are all too obvious to Billy and a complete secret to St. Catherine's at large. He tries to find the words to explain this without equivocating or being inappropriate. 

Dominic preempts this, though, wringing the ends of his sleeves in his hands as he advances again—"'M not that young"—going up on his toes and pressing his tiny mouth to the corner of Billy's.

Billy doesn't pull away so much as take a firm step to the side so their faces are no longer aligned. He breathes heavily, lifting a hand to his mouth that he can't bring himself to press to his lips. He speaks into his palm. "Go home and say the rosary. Twice."

He can sense Dominic already moving in the direction of the side exit, a frightened rabbit. "Two rosaries?! That'll take forever."

Billy covers his eyes with both hands, hissing, " _Please_ , Dominic. Go. Now."

By the time the heavy wooden doors have fallen shut behind Dominic's stumbling feet, Father Boyd's right hand is already shoved deep into his pocket, clutching his own beads. He feels that ugly, base part of him, the too-deep cracks inside that he's worked so hard to fill with charity and empathy and a more selfless kind of love—he feels them emptying out and expanding, creeping up through his heart and filling his mouth. His mouth barely moves around the familiar whispered words: "Our Father, who art in Heaven..."


	6. Confession III

**Confession III.**

_Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been... two days since my last confession._

_I'm sorry for being so formal. You must be tired of the routine, with how often I've been coming to you lately. But if I can't be honest with you, then who can I be honest with? Certainly not myself. Besides, I think you know everything I say before I say it—and everything I don't say, for that matter._

_I feel ridiculous for praying about this repeatedly. Like a wee girl with a diary. It's been a year since I last saw him, but I can't help it. It's become like this illness that eats me up inside._

_He stopped coming to St. Catherine's after that morning—I know you were there, I felt you. I feel responsible for that. I feel like I betrayed his trust, and I should have done everything in my power to make him feel safe enough to come back here. I'm pretty sure he's been attending mass elsewhere, but I wanted to look after him. I still do._

_His mother told me yesterday that she's sending him to boarding school next month for his secondary. I hope he continues on the path that he's on while he's there. I know that probably goes against everything I've been taught within these walls and without, but... in my heart of hearts, I know that that's what's best for_ him _, and in my heart of hearts, I know that you're on the side of what's best for him, too._

_As far as what happened last year, when he came to me... I know I did nothing to encourage or prompt that, and I still hope I handled it the way you would have wanted me to. I think I did all I could. But I still can't help but wonder about it. What he was thinking and why he did it. I'm not sure there was anything sexual or even impure about it. I think he approached me with the best intentions, as a Catholic. Again, I know I sound ridiculous. But I have faith in him and how I brought him up here._

_There's so much fear here... I'd be lying if I said I didn't share some of it. But I've always wondered whether or not it's warranted. I've been around the world, seen how it works in different languages and religions... I met this man in the States, of all places—he was from the South, God-fearing Capital of the World, I'm sure you've heard of it. He was one of the homeless men who came to the shelter where I was stationed. He was a character. Ehm. But he lived a very simple life with a very simple philosophy, and that was just to try your best to love everyone, not_ despite _their flaws but_ because _of them. And he had some very interesting, unconventional ideas about what constituted flaws and what didn't. He really opened my eyes. And I remember laying awake in my little room that night, wondering for the first time if I had chosen the right path. That was almost ten years ago now, but... I find myself thinking of him a lot lately._

_Take from all that what you will, Father._


	7. Ash Wednesday

**Ash Wednesday.**

Father Boyd is sure he has never been so utterly distracted, so _not present_ in a house of God, not even when he was too young to kneel. One of his earliest memories is of him standing on his seat in a pew in St. Aloysius, propped up there by his mother, who'd prevented him from fidgeting by keeping a tight hold around his middle. Even then, he remembers being enchanted by the procession, the presentation of the Eucharist, the words his mother spoke quietly next to him seeping into his ear and right down into his heart.

Today, he's the one leading the procession (one of two, anyway), at the front of the church in full regalia, but the words he speaks come by rote rather than deeply felt ritual. There's been talk for weeks of Dominic Monaghan's homecoming, and Billy's overheard the best and the worst of it, from fellow priests and complete strangers alike. To be fair, he's not the only one in the congregation this evening with something else entirely on his mind. 

Maureen had confirmed rumors the week before, insisting that Dom "was really looking forward to seeing him" before Billy could decide where to run. If her demeanor was any indication, the boy was doing very well. Her decision to send him away for school was obviously the right one, but now, after years of painfully sporadic visits, it was time for him to come home for good. She'd mentioned that there were discussions of uni, which Billy decided was a good sign. 

The Monaghans smartly arrive just a few minutes past five, and there is an almost audible collective inhalation as the doors at the back are plucked open. Father Boyd catches a glimpse of Maureen and Austin, and a messy not-quite-blonde head trailing behind them before he respectfully averts his eyes.

Once the congregation has settled and the first hymn is in full-swing, Billy searches for the Monaghans in their usual spot, and they do not disappoint. Maureen and Austin look bright and calm, but it is the light emanating from Dominic that captures and maintains Billy's attention. While Dominic's eyes are fixated in his lap, Billy seizes the opportunity to note all the physical changes that have taken place. Puberty has made Dominic noticeably rougher in the face—nose larger, jaw more angular (and more noticeably askew), ears more prominent—but there's still so much about him that's terribly boyish. Considering his stature, Billy isn't sure that'll ever change, though he's certainly not one to talk. There are parts of Dominic's body, though, that have turned sharper, tempting, sinful. The way the now thick column of his neck cascades into the curve of his shoulders reminds Billy of any number of works of art he's seen in his travels, either human, animal, or architectural. Though his shirt is buttoned nearly all the way, Billy can still picture the way his skin would look if it were peeled back. That he _has_ pictured it makes him impossibly sick with guilt.

Dominic is different but the same, strangely beautiful, and Billy could not have imagined the maelstrom of feelings it creates in him. It takes a world of effort for him to keep his eyes cast down and his concentration on the rituals.

When the time comes to do the ashes, Father Boyd gives a great sigh of relief, watching Dominic file into place at the back of the line adjacent to his, Monsignor Brady's. The serene, repetitive gesture of drawing a cross in ash on forehead after forehead puts him in a needed trance. After ten or so members of the congregation have passed, a particularly tall fellow (not a regular churchgoer, as he doesn't recognize him) shuffles into place before him, forcing him to reach up. He and the man share a little laugh as he recites, "Remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return." But after he swipes his thumb across the man's forehead, left to right, and the man ducks out of the way, Billy notices that Dominic has shifted, as if by his own hand, a painter's brushstroke that's redrawn him there. Billy knows the change didn't happen of his own volition; it was a daring move from Dominic, and one that he doesn't take lightly.

Father Boyd keeps his voice cold and methodical and his eyes distant for the next several parishioners, so that by the time Dominic materializes before him, he's ready. The facade quickly shatters, however, as soon as he takes the ashes to Dominic's brow and feels the electric charge of his own skin being so carnally recognized. Dominic keeps his eyes lowered and his head slightly bowed, a gesture that reminds Billy of his first communion nearly a decade before. The difference here is that when Dominic stands tall—and, finally, raises his eyes to Father Boyd's—they are nearly the same height now, and they both seem to inhale at that realization.

Billy feels as if his own voice is in another plane. He's not sure he's even said the right words.

Dominic smiles sweetly, but his eyes are feral and dark with knowing. "Thank you, Father."


	8. Confession IV

**Confession IV**

Billy has been going through the rituals of this last week in a daze. When he first came to the church he was very much a young man, but he still cannot recall ever being so bereft of energy for it, for even the simplest of interactions with his congregation, listening or giving instruction. He's often found it in his heart to be preoccupied with certain members of the church, when there's been unexpected death in a family, or divorce, but those thoughts had only enhanced his work, not distracted from it; true preoccupation was never fully realized until now.

The dark silence of the tiny confession room envelops him completely, his eyes falling shut and his head tipping back against hard, thick wood. After experiencing the most frustrating half-sleep every night for the past four days, there's no hope of keeping himself alert with silent prayer or list-making. In the blackness behind his eyelids, Billy's drowsy, suggestible brain envisions a bedroom thoroughly unlike the one he's kept upstairs for the past ten years, one with a proper bed, nothing as austere as the one in which he's spent the week tossing and turning, a bed with character and comfort and blankets he can burrow greedily under on weekend mornings. He's had the pleasure of a hotel bed on one or two retreats over the years, but it's not the same.

"Hello, Father."

He opens his eyes and flails a bit, clearing his throat. He hadn't even heard the door to the adjacent room shut. "Hello. How long has it been since your last confession?"

“Ages,” the voice responds, half self-deprecation and half as if to say _You should know._

Billy smiles in amusement at the man’s sense of humor, a welcome change from the dutiful, mildly guilty tones that have filled his morning so far. “That’s alright,” he says warmly. “You’re here now. What would you like to confess?”

There is a silence so heavy that Billy is almost convinced his confessor has up and left through the opposite door, just as quietly as he’d come. Billy instinctively leans forward, his eyes searching, though there isn’t very much he can see through the metal diamonds of the grating that separates them. He nearly jumps back at the sound of a loud exhale. “ _Confess_ is a strong word,” the voice answers, tentative, much less cheeky than just a moment ago. “Maybe _discuss_ would be better. I’d love to discuss something with you. Father,” it adds, almost as an afterthought.

The horrible, terrifying realization that it’s Dominic on the other side of the screen hits Billy like a punch to the stomach, his heart thudding in his ears at the flash of those huge, liquid metal eyes in the dark. He wonders a little angrily why Dominic bothered to keep the screen between them, if this was meant as some bizarre sort of sneak attack. He is certainly glad for it, though.

“Discuss what?” Billy asks, shifting to sit in profile and putting a bit more distance between himself and the screen, between them.

“My sins,” Dominic answers, more simply than before, almost as if he’s reading the words off of a page. His voice is mostly the same, only considerably rougher, like someone tossed a handful of gravel down his throat. 

Before this ordeal continues, Billy suddenly, fiercely wants to call Dominic out, the way he’d done accidentally years ago when Dominic was still just a child. But _this_ Dominic wouldn’t run; Billy is sure of it. In fact, he's almost certain that Dominic isn't seeking anonymity just now. “What are they?” he asks stupidly, and it ends up sounding impatient to his own ears.

Just then, Dominic leans forward—Billy can hear it in how close that voice gets. “I haven’t been with anyone, at school, in case you were wondering.” Billy instantly understands how inappropriate this whole conversation already is, his stomach turning at it. “Well, nothing apart from kissing,” Dominic says somewhat timidly.

The word _kissing_ sounds like a kiss out of Dominic’s mouth; it brings color to Billy’s cheeks. “Kissing isn’t a sin,” he says with more exasperation than reassurance.

There is another heavy silence, apart from the thunderous beat of Billy’s heart in his ears. When Dominic whispers _I’ve saved myself_ , Billy is so thoroughly taken aback that he finally looks up, eyes wide and wild, finding a mirror image of Dominic through the grating. What Billy assumes are Dominic’s lashes sweep down, shielding his eyes for a brief moment. “I wanted you to take me,” he whispers fiercely. “I still do.”

_Stop it_ , Billy needs to say. _Stop, stop, stop._ But his mouth seems to be sealed shut, craving Dominic’s next words like a sweet burst of air. He’s heard confessions that should have been unforgettable, would have been to most other men, but this is the only one that he has ever _wanted_ to hear.

“It could only be good,” Dominic continues, finally, as if to convince. “You’re so pure and perfect. And I’m trying to be. I try so hard.”

"Dominic, this can't—. Circumstances aside, do you know how old I am?"

"I didn’t care then, and I really don’t now,” Dominic shoots back, that same wicked amusement in his voice that Billy saw lighting his eyes at mass the other day.

Billy can't help it: he presses the heel of his hand to himself, giving a choked sob of relief that echoes in the tiny booth and makes Dominic gasp on the other side. It brings tears to his eyes it feels so utterly good. He vaguely hears Dominic shift on the kneeler.

"When I was young, I was good, wasn't I? Pure, like you,” he whispers, quieter, conspiratorial. “You can teach me again.”

“I’m not—”, Billy starts, ripping his hand from himself, the sense suddenly coming back into his body. He wants to tell Dominic he’s not pure, far from it, that he’s in no position to teach anyone about piety, not now. Billy can actually hear Dominic lick his lips. He clenches his eyes and rights his slacks, standing.

“Do you know how often I’ve thought of you?” Dominic says. “You've been the key to everything for me.”

Billy shuts the door quietly behind him and doesn’t open his eyes until he’s in his bedroom again, safe and sound.


End file.
